I thrust my fist into the air in a silent cheer
by john bender 59
Summary: When John's being kicked out of High School it looks like his big dream would go down the tubes for good…But then he gets this letter, telling him that when he graduates he’s got a more than fair chance…
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello everybody. This is my very first shot at fanfiction. It's supposed to be a longer project but I wanted to upload a first portion so you can tell me what you think of it.

I explicitly ask you to review this and to honestly tell me what you think about it, in terms of content as well as in terms of style and grammar. And please - do refrain from all these empty phrases!

Thanx a lot.

p.s: the M-rating might tell you anyways but this is going to have swearing, drugs and a bit of sex (but no pornography - at least not IMHO)

p.p.s: I'm gonna try to only upload chapters that I consider as ´finished` as possible but as this is an idea´in progress`and as I'm trying to get in some decent dramaturgy there might be some afterwards changes as well. I'll announce them if they are improtant to the plot.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the TBC-characters

**Portion 1**

I thrust my fist into the air in a silent cheer as I walk across the football field of Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois. It's Saturday…March 24, 1984 and I've just served a detention of the special kind: not only have I blazed a few nice jollies under the obviously not at all watchful eyes of my bosom enemy Dick…excuse me, Principal…Vernon but also have I gotten the quartet of weirdos who'd been locked in the library with me decently stoned…which had first lead to a few quite entertaining fights and fits of the blues, then to tearful ruefulness and conciliations and then to me making out with Shermer High's rich and glamorous Prom Queen.

I've always suspected that these high society chicks have a sneaking but serious inclination to bad boys like me. Further prove for that can by the way be found in my left earlobe in the form of the diamond stud Queenie gave to me scarcely a minute ago.

I guess there's not much that could quash a day like this, is there?

"Bender!"

What have I just said?

"Bender! Damn it, you fucking son of a bitch!"

I stop dead in my tracks and turn around. Vernon is steamrolling towards me, head crimson read and belching flames of fury. Have I forgotten to mention that I've also repeatedly, severely and publicly humiliated good old Dick and made him chase me though half the school during said detention? If so I might as well not have brought up the information that I've accidentally – and I insist on that! – demolished half the library…

"Are you insulting my mother?" I raise a questioning eyebrow as the raging bull catches up with me

"Shut up! Shut up, you goddamn prick!" he pants for air "I've let you get away with your shit for far too long but today you've definitely overstepped the mark!"

I slightly bow my head in fake interest "Have I?"

"Yes, you have" Vernon hisses "From today on you're officially and irrevocably expelled from this school. Last time you're entitled to access this premises is on Monday – you empty your locker, collect all your crap and leave! You ever after set foot on these grounds I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing! Understand me!?"

I stare at him for a moment, then flash him a disarming smile. Jovially slapping his shoulder I say: "Whatever floats your boat, Dickie."

Then I turn and walk away.

(Space)

On Monday morning I negligently sweep my ´crap` out of my locker and jam it in a kitbag. Vernon stands at attention at my side, looking like he'd expect me to conjure forth a pump gun or a hand grenade any moment. I'm glad that his high-wrought expectations make him myopic to a suspicious paper bag containing my weed, to my switchblade knife and to a school property copy of Kerouac's ´On the Road`. When I'm finished I hoist the sac on my shoulder and ask

"Now, aren't you going to miss me a wee bit, Dick?"

We are surrounded by a responsive teenage audience who giggle when he answers "The only thing I'll miss about you is the chance to give you life detention." But they laugh when I reply "I know, you're craving for a bit of time with me. But I'm sorry, dude; I'm really not into pedophile old men."

The well-known expression of disgust my presence never fails to put on Vernon's face becomes even more intense

"You know why your sort knock everything, Bender?"

Oh, this should be stunning...

"It's 'cause you're afraid. You're afraid to find out that you're stuck down there in slumland for good reason. That it's not so much because of some kind of supposed social disadvantage but because you're natural born losers...you don't eed a pedophile old man to fuck you up! You get that done yourself!"

This time it's him who turns and walks away.

The rubbernecks gawk at me. I half-step towards them and go "Boo!" and they recoil simultaneously.

"Oh, get out of my way, you horde of dildos." I push through them towards the exit.

I keep marching, through the glass swing doors and down the flight of stairs, until I hear the bell ring behind me and the kids take off to their classes. Only then I turn and look back at the building that has, without even chewing, swallowed the past four years of my life and now spit me out like I was nothing but an annoying fishbone…

Well, maybe sometimes I am…maybe…maybe I have really carried matters a bit to far schoolwise...truth be told, I have made quite a magnificent spectacle of myself lately, what with heavily antagonizing the indoctrinators, going hooky at any given opportunity, pulling fire alarms and stuff like that…I wonder if I've – kinda subconsciously, you know – even meant to be kicked out. 'Cause maybe I have at least subconsciously acknowledged by now that a high school graduation won't do much for a ´natural born looser`like me…maybe I have acknowledged that my hope is delusive, a decayed pie in the sky, that it's time to abandon it, finally, after all those proves of it's default…

"John!" it's the detention wierdos cutting after me, incredulous and wide eyed, and I can tell that at least two of them would die to talk to me. But what could I say? This is not my world any more.

With a "Piss off" I leave them to twist in the wind…

(Space)

My father doesn't give a shit about me having been drummed off. To him it's much rather a welcome change that simply predetours me to where in his opinion I'd have ended up one way or the other: the Chicago trash collectors. Since my older brother Jack's been joining the troop about two years ago I've been jobbing there occasionally and during my holidays and to everybody but me it seems to be out of question that this is what I'll be doing for the rest of my life.

And as matters stand everybody but me is right...

"Now will ya stop pouting like a silly priss, John?!" My dad goes "Told ya all along that this nonsense wouldn't work out for ya, didn't I!"

"Yeah, whatever…" I grumble, wiping some indefinable veggie mash off my little sister's mouth. She doesn't seem to mind the strange color of her supper while it utterly spoils what little is left of my appetite. I'm ´at dinner` with my family – or more precisely with that part of my family that can already eat on their own – which makes Jack, my father Joseph, my mother Joanne and sis Jennifer. The babies – Jesse and James – are thank god asleep…

…you have noticed the pathetic J-thing my parents have going on namewise, haven't you…?

Jenny smacks her spoon on the table. I take it out of her hand and feed her a portion.

"Don't you wanna eat something, Johnny?" my mother asks, pushing my plate towards me.

I deign the food a wry glance. It doesn't look much better than what I just shove into the kid.

I push the plate away again. "Na, thank's a lot." I say with an unmistakably sarcastic overtone. My old man stops tucking in and lowers.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's supposed to mean that I ´No, thank's a lot` don't wanna eat."

"D'ya not wanna eat or d'ya not wanna eat THIS?" he pokes his fork in the greenish mass in front of me.

"Does that make any difference?"

"Ya bet it makes any difference!"

"Why? The outcome is the same: if I don't eat that…stuff…" he knits his brows "…it stays on the plate and you can have a second…or third…or fourth helping."

"Ya calling your mother's cooking "stuff"? I can tell from his tone that he's getting angry. If I had half a brain I'd stop right here and now. But the inside of my skull sometimes seems to be a yawning void.

"Well, as I have slight problems correlating this…" now I poke a fork in the greenish mass "…with any commonly known dish I feel compelled to resort to the versatilely applicable word ´stuff`."

My dad's voice rises "Ya damn little bigmouth, ya really think ya something special, ey!? So special that ya won't even eat ya lot's food any more!"

My mom puts a hand on his arm "It's all right, Joe, he don't have to eat if he's not hungry."

I get a furious glare "It's not because he's not hungry, it's because he's being a spoilt, ungrateful brat!"

I glare back. "Oh yeah, we've definitely been born with a silver spoon in our mouths!" I sweepingly gesture towards the absolutely unpretentious interiority of our home. "Now tell me, do you honestly consider providing your children with basic supplies spoiling them?"

I see the slap coming before it actually shoots off. I easily duck it and with a pitiful half smile I add "Whenever words fail we resort to the language of physical violence, don't we?"

Obviously it's not only me who feels the tremble of the roar that's building up in my father's throat. Mom grabs Jenny and preventively gets her out of our way but before anything interesting happens Jack clouts me on the back of my head.

"Hey!!"

"Shut up and get me a beer, little fag."

The fag triggers dad's standard line "No dirty talk in front of the kids!"

I rub my head and snap

"Do I look like a server? Get it yourself." but Jack slams his fist on the table and shouts

"Go get me a beer, I say!" and then adds calmly "And get one for yourself too. We're going outside."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Ok, this is Chapter 2! I've got a few more pages in store and then I can only hope that I can go beyond what's been done already because I seem to slightly have lost track of the plot. I guess I just did too much thinking on it and the original version kind of got lost in the countless variations and options in my mind…

Pleas review (as detailed as possible) and share your thoughts and ideas with me!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the TBC-characters but I thank John Hughes for having made them up as they inspired me to at least take a first step towards working on a rudimentary idea and ´publishing` it.

**Portion 2**

"What the fuck you think you're doing?" Jack pushes me forward across the wilted grass in our front garden.

"Stop pushing me!"

He pushes me even harder.

"Over to the swing." He commands "Sit down."

I let me plop on one of the double swings and gently rock it back and forth. The motion calms me down a little. Jack snatches the beers from my hands, opens them and gives one back to me. We both take a proper gulp, then my brother says: "Talk!"

I'm reluctant. I know what he thinks about my ambitions anyways…"What about?"

"About what possesses you this time, for fuck's sake!"

I take another gulp and then extensively rummage around in the pocket of my jeans jacket. After a while I produce a pack of cigarettes, rummage again for some matches, light the cig and drag. Deep and long…

"John!"

I exhale the smoke and push my swing a little harder. I shrug.

"Guess it's because there's now way out now…"

"No way out of what?"

I let out a hard laugh and repeat my sweeping gesture, just this time I aim it towards the run-down exteriority of our home.

"No way out of this shit!!"

Jack grabs the chains of my swing and nails me down. "This ´shit`…" he spits in my face "…this ´stuff` and ´shit` and all your fucking ´basic supplies` are damn hard-earned, man! Dad and I bear the brunt while all you've done so far's a bit of jobbing and a fucking lot of big talk!"

He lets go of me to eye me disparagingly "I'm sorry your fancy plan of becoming…" he can't even remember what it was "…whatever hasn't come off, but it's about time to leave dreamland and come back to planet earth, darling! Get used to the idea of soiling your hands with dirty work like the rest of us." He sighs "And get used to it quickly. I'll announce you as a permanent in trash collection, starting next week."

I tell his rear view to fuck off as he makes his way back to the house.

(Space)

The night is cold and windy and I shiver away but I don't want to go inside. The house has gone dark and quiet a while ago but I still dread the thought of returning to what at this moment looks like a sticky, deadly fly trap to me.

I look up at the sky. It's haunted by ghostlike clusters of clouds, backlit by a phosphorous full moon, and I can't help thinking that I'm right now just as haunted by the ghost of my broken dream.

How can I not ´pout like a silly priss` when all I've been planning, all I've been hoping…all that's given my wanky life some proper meaning during the past years has gone down the tubes in just one day…?

Strictly speaking this one day was of course only the concrete manifestation of a descending development that I've closed my eyes to for a long, long time. See, if you have a thing…a certain something…that you want to do – and you'll excuse the pussy phrasing – like from the bottom of your heart then you won't abandon it just because it ´doesn't come off` at the first go or just because people tell you it's nonsense. I'd even say that, au contraire, you rather stay on the ball, try harder, try better, try more!...

The problem is, when you've tried as hard, as good and as much as you possibly can…and when things still don't work out… it might really be about time to leave dreamland and come back to planet earth…

(Space)

I don't return to my room until a hazy notion of lead-grey starts to push the nocturnal sky towards the west. Jack's dead to the world, snoring silently.

I strip down to my boxers and hop into bed. Then I lie waste, wide eyed and still unable to sleep. After a while the yellowed ceiling above me turns into a screen that throws the recent events back at me. Starting with my crash landing on reality just an hour ago it rewinds to the clash with my father, then to the detention weirdos' baffled expressions when I'd walked out on them, then to Vernon's ´ because you're natural born losers`…I jump to Saturday, to the kick out and finally to the events in detention…To this nerdy little Brian-kid…to Allison, the cranky goth…to wannabe super cool jockstrap Andy…and to Cherry Claire, the rich and glamorous Prom Queen…to how I'd pushed their buttons – one after the other – how I'd been bang on target with almost every word I'd said…how I'd hurt them…and how they'd hurt me…

…and how we'd still come out of all this with an odd kind of mutual sympathy…

But as I said before: This is not my world anymore…

(Space)

I've just light a fire within the circle of stones I've laid out on the lawn when my old sandpit pal and pot supplier Sal trots round.

"Hey, school dropout, what'ya doing?" he asks, nodding towards the flames.

"Cremating my future's cadaver" I answer. He doesn't understand.

So I nod, albeit towards a modest pile of letters I've put down on a tree stump beside me. His eyes go wide.

"Nah!" he gapes "But you've been holding on to that shit for ages, how come you burn it now?"

"It's all just rejections anyways." I pick up the first envelope, let the flames take the bait and watch them crawl up the paper until they bite my fingers. The charred shred I let go is being carried away by the still brisk wind. It's about noon but it has hardly warmed up since last night…at least my ghost has paled a bit at the sight of daylight…

"Yeah, but…" Sal starts again but I raise a finger to shut him up. Grabbing the rest of the letters I demand "Look at this." I wiggle them in front of his nose "This sad lot's the fruit of tons of applications. Not exactly plentiful harvest, is it?" He shakes his head. "But the problem is not that about eighty percent of the people I wrote to didn't even bother to answer. The problem is that the answers I got are all a definite ´no`."

"But most of them didn't really say ´no`. They said ´not without a college degree`."

"Which equates to a ´no` for a person without either money, connections or excellent grades, doesn't it?"

"And what about the three that said ´not now`…

"When I asked them when else they made sufficiently clear that I wouldn't really life to see the day."

I throw the rest of the disillusioning correspondence into the fire.

"On for a doobie?" Sal's trying to cheer me up and I let him

"Definitely. A moment like this calls for decent emotional numbing."


End file.
